Curse
by Thethuthinnang
Summary: BtVS.Harry Potter. Ginny knows a curse when she sees one.
1. Chapter 0

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Harry Potter belong to their respective creators, Joss Whedon and J.K. Rowling.

Warning: major AU.

* * *

Ginny knows a curse when she sees one.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Harry Potter belong to their respective creators, Joss Whedon and J.K. Rowling.

Warning: major AU.

* * *

When Ginny was six years old, Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian stopped by the Burrow on the third day of Christmas break.

The whole family was in the kitchen when they arrived, blowing in through the door in a flurry of wind and snow and familiar laughter. _"Molly,"_ they shouted, and threw their arms about her, all at once, so that she was nearly smothered in their green tartan cloaks. "Arthur," they said, and each shook his hand, only to then hug him anyway, eliciting a brief, startled _Oof!_

"Gideon," said Dad, adjusting his glasses as he pulled himself free. "Fabian! We—we didn't expect—"

They shook hands with the boys, nodding and addressing each by name. When it came to Ginny's turn, they both exclaimed "Ginevra!" and kissed her on the cheek, leaving her with a vague impression of stubble, white teeth, and an indefinable odor of smoke and grown-up.

They'd brought trunks and trunks of wrapped and ribboned packages. George and Fred immediately set out to ransack them, looking hopefully for the sort of Christmas presents that their mother was always scolding her brothers for owling, but Uncle Gideon shook his head and said that would have to wait until Christmas.

"Not now, mates!" He picked Fred up in one arm, George in the other, and made as if to toss them both into the tree. "We've got something else for you today!"

At the table, from between Charlie and Dad, Bill raised an eyebrow. "Something else?" Less than six months away from graduating, he was becoming more and more adult all the time. Looking at him sitting there at table, Ginny could almost see the tall, lanky figure of the man he was becoming, all calm and thoughtfully narrowing looks.

Uncle Fabian smiled, but—Ginny noticed, would remember noticing for years afterward—his eyes were wary. "Rather, some_one_ else."

Beside Ginny, her mother's hands stilled on a mug of hot chocolate.

"We're not here to stay," said Uncle Gideon, righting the two boys and putting them down on their feet. "We actually came to invite you somewhere else."

"Oh?" said Dad, somewhat cautiously. He'd mixed up another two mugs, was carrying them over.

"To Grimmauld Place," said Uncle Fabian, taking the mug Dad handed him.

Ginny looked around as everyone went quiet. Mum's and Dad's faces had stiffened.

"What," Ginny started to whisper, but Ron caught her eye and shook his head.

"Gideon," said Mum, somewhat indignantly, "you know how we feel about the Blacks—"

"I know, Moll," said Uncle Gideon, taking the chair beside her. "Personally, I couldn't agree with you more, but Dumbledore insisted. It's the only really secure place we have."

Then, everyone's faces changed again, from frowns to questioning glances.

"Dumbledore?" said Dad, taken aback. "What is he—?"

"I suppose you both still remember," said Uncle Fabian, from near the window, exaggeratedly casual, "September of '81?"

"Black September?" Mum was irritated. "How couldn't we? There were all those attacks, you were nearly—I mean, if it hadn't been for—"

Eyes widened. Mouths opened. A spoon went clattering to the floor.

Uncle Gideon's eyes and face were filled with light. Ginny would remember his expression, with awful and heart-clenching clarity, for the rest of her life.

"Yes," he said. "Dumbledore's found him."


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Harry Potter belong to their respective creators, Joss Whedon and J.K. Rowling.

Warning: major AU.

* * *

They all went. Mum, Dad, Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred and George, Ron, and Ginny. Mum made them all put on their good robes, even Dad, and then they followed Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon into the Floo. They'd go to Diagon Alley first, Dad said, and then out into Muggle London, where they'd try catching a Muggle cab.

"Alice and Frank are going to be there," Uncle Gideon told them as Mum prepared the Powder. "And the Bones, and Dorcas. Dearborn, Diggle, Fenwick. Moody, of course, and Doge. Maybe the McKinnons."

"No one wants to miss him," said Uncle Fabian, adjusting his tartan. "We don't know the details, but seems Dumbledore had some trouble convincing the fellow to come meet everyone. Quite shy, apparently."

Mum's face was pink with hurry and exhilaration. "I don't know what I'll say!"

Ginny knew who they were talking about. Sort of. Bill had explained it to her—about the time before, when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had been killing lots of people, and there'd been a war that no one really wanted to talk about now, a war that even the history books hemmed and hawed over when she asked them.

A war of black robes and white faces and whorls of green sorcery and newspapers with the headline THE END OF TERROR! THE DARK LORD'S VANQUISHER REMAINS UNNAMED.

She looked up at Bill where he was walking beside her, his hand large and warm around hers. "It's him, Bill? Really?"

He glanced down and smiled. "If Dumbledore says so, it must be."

"Tell us again," George was begging Uncle Gideon. "About that time, in the alley—"

_"Well,"_ said Uncle Gideon, throwing his shoulders back.

Uncle Fabian elbowed him in the stomach. "Not now, boys," he told Fred and George as Uncle Gideon bent over wheezing.

Mum's face was white beneath the pink, Dad glancing at her with concern. Bill's hand tightened over Ginny's.

Ginny knew the story. She could have told it herself. Five Death Eaters, screaming curses and Unforgiveables—Uncle Fabian and Uncle Gideon, backed into a corner and fighting for every breath, the Order too late and too far. The dark, the cold, the wet of that September morning—

—and then the figure, black-robed, white sword in one hand and dark wand in the other, falling toward them out of the night.

The fireplace flared green with Powder.

"Be careful," urged Mum, making final adjustments to everyone's cloaks, "and let's keep together, shall we? We want to be on time."

"Seven o'clock," said Uncle Fabian, looking at the clock where all their hands were pointing to _Dithering_. "We'd better get along sharpish if we want to make it."

Mum frowned, her lips pressed together the way they did when she was worried. She and Dad exchanged a long, meaningful look.

"And be polite," added Mum, though grudgingly. "After all, whatever else you want to say about them, the Black brothers _did_ come through for us in the end."


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Harry Potter belong to their respective creators, Joss Whedon and J.K. Rowling.

Warning: major AU.

* * *

The front door of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place was hung with a wreath of green branches, silver globes, and white witchlight. For a moment, everybody unconsciously hung back, glancing at each other with clear disinclination.

"For Merlin's sake," said Uncle Gideon, and marched up the steps, tramping snow in his wake.

Ginny peered up at the house. It was very big, she saw, bigger than the Burrow and much newer-looking. The whole thing was a large, black shape in the dark and the snow, with faintly glowing windows and half-shutters outlined in flat, cold light. The lower windows were completely curtained. Nothing about it was welcoming or warm at all, not like the Burrow, and Ginny found herself pressing closer to her mother, who was holding her hand very tightly.

Up ahead, where Uncle Gideon stood at the front door, there was a loud, clanging noise, like a tin bell. For a moment, they all stood shivering in the wind.

Finally, the door clicked open.

"Ah. Prewitt," said the black-haired man standing there, and the door opened wide.

"Black," said Uncle Gideon, and went in.

The man was younger than her uncles. His black hair was cut short, trimmed close at the sides, and his sharp blue eyes were cold and impersonal, following each Weasley as they came in. He wore long, dark robes.

"Ma'am," he said, nodding to Mum. "Sir," he added to Dad, though he didn't nod this time.

"Black," said Dad, just as chilly.

Mum said nothing, but her lips pursed and she pulled Ginny along a bit more firmly than she had to.

The young man glanced down at Ginny. Their eyes met, and she thought he was about to smile, something about the way his eyes softened and his chin relaxed, but then Mum pulled again and Ginny only managed to catch a glimpse of him turning away to close the door.

"Done some fixing, have you?" Uncle Fabian was saying, his eyes on a chandelier overhead, a thousand witchlights glimmering against the black wood ceiling. "Very...very Black."

"Thank you," said the young man, in his low, polite voice, without looking at Uncle Fabian. He was walking down the long hallway, his steps noiseless in the thick carpeting.

Ginny was staring at a set of black curtains on the wall, next to a row of portraits. The curtains were drawn, and she seemed to feel a slight, cold wind from beneath them. George and Fred were staring around, and Charlie was whispering something to Bill. Percy was shushing Ron, and Mum and Dad exchanged looks.

"Arthur?" someone called, and a man was stepping into the hallway through a door. "Molly?"

Dad smiled. "Oh! Ron, look who it is!"

The man, a tall man with messy black hair, smiled. "Hello, Ron. Haven't seen you in ages—yesterday, wasn't it?"

From behind him, pushing through, was a smaller, skinnier shape, though the messy black hair was just the same. "Ron?"

The tall man adjusted his glasses. "Come on, everyone's in here. Where's Regulus got off to?"

"Ron, hurry," said the boy excitedly. "He's here! Dumbledore says he's here!"

"Yeah?" said Ron, shoving Percy aside. "You see him yet?"

"No," said Harry, and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "I just got here."


End file.
